


In Which Ianto May or May Not Be Fully Human

by DinoDina



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Established Relationship, Exit Wounds Compliant, Living Together, M/M, Non-Human Ianto Jones, Secrets, Series 03 Fix-It: Children of Earth (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: It takes Jack a bit to notice - he's reasonably distracted by running Torchwood, after all - that Ianto is keeping a secret.
Relationships: Ianto Jones & Myfanwy, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 142
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	In Which Ianto May or May Not Be Fully Human

Although he spent most nights at the Hub, Jack had his own flat not far from the Plass. He didn't spend as much time there as he wanted, but exactly as much as he expected when he'd gotten it. As a result, while spacious and decorated to the precise style he needed, the flat was not lived-in or truly personal.

So when the relationship between him and Ianto predictably turned to the domestic in the weeks following his return to Cardiff, Jack didn't bring up his flat beyond vague allusions to the clothes and knickknacks he stored there.

"I don't mind," Ianto had said with a shy smile when Jack had first started keeping things at his flat.

Now, they were fully settled into a comfortable life, not quite living together but calling Ianto's flat theirs almost as much as Ianto's. For all his varied relationships, Jack rarely turned to the domestic—most partners ran before it came down to that—and so he was still sometimes surprised by how at ease he felt in Ianto's flat, where he had a side of the bed, room in the dresser, a toothbrush on the bathroom counter, and personalized soaps in the shower.

Their relationship was familiar, safe, but the price of domesticity had not been routine or boredom.

"We need to leave early," Ianto said one morning when Jack was preparing to turn off the alarm and sleep in. "I'm picking up fish for Myfanwy later, I want to get some things done at the Hub before."

Who was Jack to argue?

He nodded, kissed the closest part of Ianto he could reach—was too asleep to know what exactly it was, only that Ianto's stupid blood circulation made it _cold_ —then snuggled further into Ianto's thick blankets and mumbled, "Five minutes."

Ianto laughed. "I'll give you fifteen, I need to shower anyway."

Jack didn't need to be told twice.

Fifteen minutes later, he was up, not woken by Ianto but by his internal clock. For all that Jack loved a good lie-in and always tried to have one, years of insomnia and hypervigilance worked well against him.

It served him well most of the time and when it didn't, Jack didn't complain. He was used to it.

Now, he had Ianto to ward off the demons—not all of them, and not in a way that placed undue emotional labor onto Ianto's shoulders, but in the same way that Jack hoped to be there for Ianto. Sharing, listening, comforting… Jack did none of those things easily, out of practice and terrified of rejection, but Ianto had done too good a job of getting under his armor.

Ianto had endeared himself to a pterodactyl of all things. The fact never failed to make Jack smile—just like most things about Ianto—and he was more than happy to indulge Ianto in spoiling Myfanwy.

Owen always laughed at them both for it—Jack, as they got into the SUV, imagined the grin that would greet them when they got to the Hub—and then carefully stayed on the other side of whatever room Myfanwy was in, not admitting that he was scared she'd overheard his taunts.

Ianto was expressly forbidden, in those situations, from having Myfanwy fly around the room.

"I don't want to scare him," Ianto always said in a tone that was so innocent Jack knew he couldn't trust it, "but he shouldn't be rude to Myfanwy."

 _He shouldn't be rude to anyone_ , Jack always thought, _and yet…_

For all that Owen groaned and grumbled, Jack was happy he did so—it was the Owen he had grown to love over the years. That Owen had come over the hurdle of being undead, was still himself in the face of eternity, was nothing short of a miracle. He and Tosh were closer than ever, Gwen was rapidly approaching her wedding, and Jack got to spend nearly every evening with Ianto, be it at the Hub or elsewhere.

Torchwood was still itself, fast-paced and dangerous, but Jack, for the first time in a long time, felt contented and at peace. He just hoped it would last.

* * *

Several years after the fact, Jack still wasn't sure just how Ianto had initially caught Myfanwy. He'd been alone, then, sleep-deprived, depressed, traumatized beyond belief, and with nothing to his name but Lisa and whatever car he'd used to bring her to Cardiff. Jack had learned that—and other no less depressing things—as their relationship had progressed and Ianto grew comfortable enough to share moments of his transition from London to Cardiff.

Ianto had joked about a pterodactyl net, berating Jack for not having one, but _he_ hadn't had one, either. So clearly it wasn't that. Besides, Ianto didn't insist on getting one for the Hub, so Jack dismissed it as a clever emotion-hiding quip.

There was always the option that he'd lured her into the warehouse with chocolate and a smile. That certainly would have worked on Jack! It _did_ work on Jack. But it was just a bit too bizarre—and oddly simple—to be the answer.

Every so often, Ianto would disappear into Myfanwy's aerie and not come out for hours. He sat with her, fed her chocolate, and talked with her. Later, when he came down, always looking calmer than before, he insisted that he didn't pamper her. Jack didn't mind—some people had emotional support dogs, Ianto had Myfanwy.

He fell asleep there sometimes.

The first time was only two weeks after he'd been hired. Jack hadn't trusted him then—had been right to be suspicious in hindsight—but had been attracted enough not to question it when Ianto had, after a solid half-hour of searching, been found snuggled up with Myfanwy in the hay and fabric that made up her nest.

Ever since then, Jack knew that the first place to look for a missing Ianto was the aerie. The others laughed at it, always choosing the Archives first, but Jack knew.

So when, two weeks after Cardiff was thrown into chaos—after Owen and Tosh had _died_ —Ianto was missing and there was an irate official on the line, Jack's gaze immediately flew to the Hub's ceiling. He didn't have a good view of the aerie from his desk—perhaps on purpose, since Ianto had been the one to choose its location and had since then used it as a sanctuary—and couldn't stand due to the phone cord, so he thought only a few vague curses in Ianto's direction before tuning into the conversation.

"I understand," he said an hour later when the nosy general finally began his goodbyes, "UNIT can't help because—yes, I understand, London needs you right now, _I get it_."

Fucking bureaucrats.

Torchwood was down forty percent, operating in a city that was only just now returning to full operation, some parts of it still without power, what was left of the team running ragged without enough time to grieve. Gwen caught up on sleep on the sofa between her liaising, Ianto settled for putting his head down onto his desk when he had the time, and Jack hadn't been down to his bunker since he'd been dug up, catching minutes here and there before startling awake, gasping for air. They were barely holding it together, they didn't need _UNIT_ making things worse.

Jack was happy that Ianto had Myfanwy to give him the few moments of peace he couldn't get elsewhere. _He_ didn't have anything of the sort—Ianto, perhaps.

Jack recalled with a smile when Owen had made a similar joke.

"He's your emotional support Ianto!" he'd crowed.

"I think that's just called a boyfriend," Tosh had said with a grin.

Owen had laughed even harder at that, pointedly grinning at Ianto, who had for some reason turned beet-red.

Jack couldn't remember what exactly had brought it up. He had flashes of memories, sometimes, all fully normal—as normal as any memories—and then they would be overtaken by nothing. Not the nothing of being dead—that was an emptiness beyond imagination—but just… blank moments. Nothing he would ever think about deliberately. But sometimes his brain tried to recall something and couldn't.

Jack had been prepared for that eventuality. Being immortal, it was always bound to happen. But those memories were supposed to disappear gradually, not… Jack had lost so much already; spending two thousand years buried—not waking up and dying over and over again, as he'd been threatened, but just asleep—had taken more out of him than he could have predicted.

Phone call finished, Jack stood to fetch Ianto. It was now his turn to be functional. With a pang that was half-fear, half-love, Jack admitted to himself that if Ianto was asleep or otherwise indisposed—distressed, tired, scared—he would let him rest. Ianto had earned it, though he did no more than his share—not his _fair_ share, for none of their shares were fair, but Ianto was a big boy and Jack wasn't hypocrite enough to impose a work curfew upon him.

He climbed the ladder to the aerie with the caution that Ianto never employed—and saw, before he fully entered, that Ianto was extricating himself from under Myfanwy's wing.

"Good nap?" he asked, for neither of them had slept a full night since the bombs had first gone off.

Ianto nodded and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "I didn't miss the UNIT call, did I?"

"I took care of it." Taking in Ianto's rumpled suit and messy hair, Jack decided not to mention his earlier frustration. "It was all pointless anyway. They blew us off."

Ianto's face fell. "I could have…"

Jack shook his head. The only thing that could ever change UNIT's mind was the Doctor, and he was nowhere to be found—and even if he was, the new leadership was even less communicative than the old one.

"I'm sorry," Ianto said needlessly.

Jack silently took his hand and settled in more comfortably. Myfanwy would never provide the comfort to him that she gave to Ianto, but it was close enough.

* * *

It had been Gwen's idea. Sort of.

"If I have to spend the weekend with Rhys's mum," she's said with a truly horrifying glint in her eyes, "you are going to deal with the latest invasion. If you ask me, you get the better part of the deal."

The invasion had been scheduled for the past twenty years.

Ianto had unearthed the document in the archives only a week ago—Jack had known about it, in some vague way, for it was his handwriting on the report, but the details had escaped him. Twenty years ago, some aliens—their name had been smudged and water-damaged by the poor state of the archives before Ianto had come—had come to Earth and then, seeing UNIT's then-impressive defense force, had left with a warning.

"Do you really think they'll come back?" Gwen had asked.

"The universe has a shit sense of humor," Ianto had replied without a trace of it in his voice.

And so, on the morning that Gwen went with Rhys to visit his parents—with an air of one going to war—Jack got to sleep in, getting in the car with Ianto after a hearty breakfast, for the invasion was not coming until later in the evening.

Ianto, whose distaste for the countryside had only slightly abated after his trip there with Owen, was far from chipper.

"I could have gone to see Rhys's mum," he grumbled as they left Cardiff.

"And you would have charmed her perfectly," Jack said. "But then you'd also have to be married to Rhys, and you're taken."

Ianto scowled. "Just wake me up when we get there."

The sullen mood was uncharacteristic of Ianto, but Jack knew he hadn't been sleeping or eating well. The transition from cold to warm weather was always rough on him—Jack hadn't missed how Ianto would get less energetic and animated in the cold months, sleeping more despite his nightmares, doing his fair share of fieldwork but with much less enthusiasm—and now there was the added burden of grief and extra work.

Cardiff weather was unpredictable at best, and Jack always noticed when Ianto had expected it to be warmer, only to walk outside and shiver; he understood the aversion to cold, for while he had lived in Cardiff for the last hundred years, he'd been born on a desert planet, and that temperature affinity didn't go away.

The sun was on Ianto's side of the car and even though Jack didn't understand how he could sleep with it practically in his eyes, he was glad that Ianto was finally getting some rest.

When he pulled the SUV onto the side of the road two hours later, Jack let Ianto sleep for several extra minutes as he double-checked their location.

Then, he gently shook Ianto awake. "We're here."

Ianto, slow to wake only at night, instantly sat up, alert, and looked around. "Scenic spot for an invasion."

"At least they told us beforehand."

"It's very convenient."

They shared a laugh. Thwarting invasions—even ones like this, which felt like minute custodial tasks rather than the serious Torchwood business they really were—was best when done with friends and family. While Gwen was indisposed with her own family for the moment, two-thirds of Torchwood were ready to save the day.

* * *

And save the day they did.

Seeing that Jack and Ianto were waiting for them, the aliens had turned around and left with a promise to return another twenty years down the line. Ianto had noted the threat and put it into the archives as soon as they'd returned.

Twenty years was a long time for any employee to stick around, but Jack did not like the resigned look on Ianto's face whenever he entered the archives sometimes, leaving messages for a future Torchwood without acknowledging the elephant in the room: there was a limit to how long a Torchwood agent lived, and Ianto was nearing it.

But besides that, Ianto's actions showed ignorance rather than acceptance. He'd always been rash—if not rash, then in possession of a certain kind of blindness when it came to personal safety—without letting it affect the well-being of the rest of the team. Jack had fished a shivering and sopping Ianto from the bay three times over the past two weeks. Aside from napping more often when the Rift wasn't active, Ianto showed no sign of being affected by the water. Which was a good thing, Jack knew, but there wasn't a single thing that excused Ianto pushing a bloodthirsty Weevil into the water—and himself with it—when Jack was the one being attacked.

It was just a little death— _not_ the fun kind—but it was better Jack than anyone else any day.

He didn't want to bring it up. Ianto thrived on being needed and accepted almost to an unhealthy degree, which, as far as Torchwood-related neuroses went—as far as _Ianto's_ Torchwood-related neuroses went—was quite tame but was still a sore spot. At the same time, no matter Ianto's insistence that it was spring, there was no way—unless Ianto was partially amphibian—that so many dips into the bay were healthy: this time, Ianto would get off with just slight fatigue, but the next…

The next time, Jack simply resolved to bring the issue up with Ianto. They were both adults and had already aired out plenty of grievances. The fact that it had taken Jack getting pregnant wasn't the best estimate of the quality of that communication, but their relationship being less than conventional, even know, meant that they were always on a slight learning curve.

Next time came much sooner than Jack had imagined, only a day since Ianto had tackled the Weevil—the previous time, he's been fishing for a piece of tech—and now Jack was helping him climb out of the bay once more. He'd been thrown in alongside the Hoix Jack had shot. An accident, and Ianto seemed _fine_ —for all Jack's help, he was clambering up the slick ladder under his own steam—but he was too blasé about it, too quick to wave off the hovering, even as his body reacted with shivers. He curled up, not on the couch in the main Hub, but on the floor by the radiator near his desk in the archives, like a content cat or a well-fed lizard.

Jack couldn't do much other than taking Ianto's temperature—satisfactory—and covering him with an extra blanket, holding Ianto close that night when he dropped the stoic act and searched out Jack's body heat.

Ianto ignoring his own safety _hurt_ ; short of telling him that, Jack wasn't sure how to stop that, because Ianto clearly could not continue like this— Maybe he wouldn't keep ending up in the bay, the trend was worrying.

Ianto had kept it mostly together in the immediate aftermath of losing Tosh and Owen, so this might have been a delayed reaction, or Jack himself was finally coming back to his earlier levels of perception and the realization was long overdue.

Though Ianto had never promised Jack forever or even the rest of his life—neither was a promise Jack could justify asking for—Jack felt betrayed. Not only would losing Ianto leave Torchwood yet another man down, but Jack wasn't sure if he would be able to recover. Not _now_. One day, he'd have to— _but not now_. And Ianto knew that—he had to.

"Don't do that again," Jack said into Ianto's hair, not knowing if Ianto was awake but suddenly overcome with fear and not caring about it.

Ianto shook his head slowly, still asleep. "Better me than you."

"I can't die."

"I can hold my breath."

"What?" That wouldn't prevent drowning.

"Longer than you," Ianto mumbled, back to the sleep Jack had so rudely interrupted. Eyes still closed, he turned his cold nose into Jack's shoulder with a soft sigh that sounded suspiciously like an exasperated, "Humans."

* * *

In an odd fit of interest in literature, Ianto would read through Jack's bookshelves when he couldn't sleep. Jack knew this only because Ianto's organization system differed from his and the books were never where they were supposed to be after Ianto had finished with them.

Ianto didn't want to discuss the books and never mentioned his insomnia. Half the time, Jack wondered at the odd barrier that had risen between them; the other half, he was convinced he was seeing things, being paranoid.

As usual, after all, Ianto comfortably draped himself over Jack whenever they were alone, leeching heat like the thief he was. He was as eager as he'd always been when they managed to sneak a date, pretending he wasn't excited but unable to stop smiling. He was just as comfortable throwing around barbs and jokes, not only to Gwen, who he had never been closer to, but to Jack as well. Nothing had changed: Ianto was the same, _Torchwood_ was different, and Jack was just letting his fears get the best of him.

Sometimes, though, Ianto would open his mouth to say something and close it again. Or he would reach out to Jack but take his hand back with a look of abject misery that he wiped blank the moment Jack noticed.

More and more often, Ianto sneaked out of bed in the middle of the night. In the morning, he smiled sheepishly and handed Jack the breakfast he'd made; as Jack waited for Ianto to join him on the couch for the meal, he would glance at the bookshelves and see just how sleepless Ianto's night had been. By his calculations, Ianto had gotten through half of the shelf over the past two weeks. If Jack hadn't known that Ianto was napping at work, he would have worried for his performance.

He worried anyway. Not so much for Ianto's _performance_ , for Ianto was pretending that Jack was blind to it all, but for Ianto's mental and emotional well-being.

He left a soft blanket out in the living room for when Ianto stayed the night with him—rather than the other way around—and debated grabbing a piece of paper, writing "Please sleep" on it, and hiding it in a book. The only thing that prevented Jack from immediately doing so was his inability to tell which book Ianto would read next. One note was not going to cut it.

Never let it be said that Jack was a man of inaction. Soon, all of the books, even the ones that Ianto had already read, boasted post-it notes in them. Some simply reminded Ianto to that Jack was there if he ever wanted to talk. Others were more blunt, telling Ianto that he needed to take care of himself and if wasn't going to sleep, then he was at least going to eat and drink properly. One demanded, "I know you're hiding something. I won't make you talk about it, but please don't be afraid of me."

He'd written it last, exhausted and betrayed and scared, when Ianto had laughed too-loud at a joke and moved too-jerkily around the Hub, clearly awkward and uncomfortable but secretive in a way he hadn't been since he'd first come to Cardiff.

Direct confrontation would only freak Ianto out, so Jack went to bed that night, holding a stiff Ianto in his arms, hoping that he would still be there in the morning.

He wasn't. What else was new?

But he _was_ asleep. Out in the living room, curled up under the blanket, book slipped out of his grasp, and, more importantly, a yellow post-it stuck to his hand.

At this distance, Jack couldn't read what it said, but it was still early, so he let Ianto sleep on and took over breakfast for the first time in several weeks. He was debating how best to wake Ianto up without drawing attention to the post-it when he heard Ianto get up. That was sorted, then. As far as the message in the note, Jack was willing to let Ianto take the lead.

Ianto didn't take the lead when he walked in, just the toast Jack had on his plate. That was _Jack's_ toast, actually, but Ianto had done the shopping, so if they were getting into semantics, the whole loaf was his. He glared at Ianto anyways.

After a few moments Ianto met his eyes. "I'm sorry."

He sounded so pitiful; Jack immediately dropped the mock-anger. "It's over, it's fine."

"I betrayed you." Ianto still looked defeated. "Again."

Jack got the urge to check Ianto for a fever decided on a more reasonable way. "I'm talking about my toast. What are you talking about?"

"You figured it out, didn't you?" Ianto flushed. "I told you a few weeks ago but… the note. You know I'm not human."

And then Jack's portable Rift detector went off.

* * *

Jack, in fact, had not known that Ianto wasn't human.

The surprise was put on hold as they dealt with a small Sontaran invasion. Odd, since Sontarans usually favored London this time of year. But Jack's boyfriend had just admitted to being—what, an alien?—not human, so maybe it was a day of surprises.

Except it wasn't that surprising. Not really. Not after the hint Ianto had dropped weeks ago, after the fact believing it to be an admission of guilt, and not after the accumulating odd things he'd observed in Ianto. The way he hated the cold and needed to nap more than most people; he ignored this need just as he did the rest of them, but it was obvious. The way he sympathized with aliens in a direct contrast to what Jack knew of Torchwood One, a way that couldn't, in hindsight, just be explained away by Ianto's large heart.

Once they'd returned to the Hub, Ianto had started shooting him _looks_. Jack was too busy yelling at UNIT for not responding to the invasion to pull him aside for a much-needed conversation, and now, the only thing that pulled him away from his ire and paperwork was Gwen cluttering about as she got ready to leave.

Time to talk with Ianto, then. There was no question about where he was, and Jack's feet immediately carried him to the stairs by Myfanwy's aerie.

"I'm coming up!" he called after a moment of deliberation, deciding that it would be better to wake Ianto up if he was asleep rather than startle him.

Jack soon found himself all the way up the ladder, facing a Ianto who looked as if he'd just figured out how cornered he was.

Jack did his best to keep his voice quiet and even. "We should talk."

Ianto nodded.

They looked at each other for a moment longer. The spell was only broken when Myfanwy cawed; Ianto, as if in a dream, threw a piece of chocolate her way.

"You're good with her." It was as much of a peace offering as Jack could word.

Ianto nodded. "She sees me as one of her own."

"She's definitely adopted you at least a little."

"No, I…" Ianto waved off Jack's laugh. "I mean for real. It's the… not-human thing."

"She knows you're not human?"

"It's a bit more specific than that."

Jack held Ianto's gaze. He expected to see the lie there, something more than the utter defeat and abject misery Ianto was failing to hide. Jack sat, careful to telegraph his movements, and waited for Ianto to sit as well.

"I want to hear you out. From the beginning. But you have to give me something to work with. You _lied_ to me. By omission—but you know that still counts." Jack would listen to Ianto even if the universe itself condemned him. "I promise that you're safe. I just need to know the truth."

A weighted word, a weighted concept—and Jack had secrets, too, so the ultimatum felt bitter on his tongue—but Ianto started talking.

"How human are you?"

Jack fought to keep himself from startling. Ianto had mumbled his way through some ideas for a minute now, and this was the beginning. "Mostly."

"How mostly?"

"We're… humans are humans, even in the 51st century."

"But there's something extra there, yeah?"

Jack nodded. "No one really knows _what_ , but it's not like it matters. We're just not all-human, genetically, at that point."

"Right."

"Is that what you are?"

"Yes and no. It's a bit more specific than that." Ianto fidgeted with his sleeves and Jack fought back the urge to scowl, because _he_ was usually the cryptic and enigmatic conversationalist, and his eyes were opening to the frustration of it. Ianto opened his mouth again, and this time, his voice didn't waver, though his hands were too still as he kept them from shaking. "What do you know about Silurians?"

"They're gone."

"There hasn't been a Silurian on Earth since before the twentieth century," Ianto confirmed. "But they're not gone. You, in the future—humans aren't all-human anymore. Silurians aren't all-Silurian. There's… no one actually told me how much, we're not… my family's not exactly forthcoming about anything. My nana, she's… one-eight Silurian, maybe? Less, I think, but she died when I was—and Silurians don't marry outside of the community, not _often_ , and my father wasn't—he didn't—I don't know if he was human or not." Ianto took a breath and the flush that had risen in his cheeks cooled. "I _am_ human. Mostly. When I think about it, I'm afraid I don't belong anywhere. I didn't, when I was younger, I felt… wrong. And I'm sorry—I'm not sorry I told you, but I didn't want anything to change."

"I'm sorry I made you tell me." He wasn't, not really. Jack was happy he knew. And it was the necessary call as Torchwood leader. But Jack's heart broke at Ianto's desperate, defeated tone.

Myfanwy anxiously flapped her wings at the tension when Ianto didn't respond. He absentmindedly shushed her and patted her beak when she approached.

Jack grinned at the familial display. "So how much of a lizard are you?"

"Not much." Ianto snorted. "I'm mostly human."

"So napping after dinner in warm places is a Ianto thing?"

Ianto's blush was all the answer necessary, but he protested anyway. "It's beneficial but not necessary. Dinosaurs aren't lizards, you know."

Jack _did_ know—Ianto told him often enough.

"Silurians are reptilian, but I _am_ mostly human. I just… sleeping in the sun after dinner is a lizard thing, it speeds up metabolism. It stops stomachaches if I get them after eating. It's not necessary, just… a thing. And I don't like the cold, but I can stand it better; Silurians are mesothermic, so regulation is different."

"And the swimming?"

"I can store air in my lungs."

"Huh." That would probably come in handy one day.

* * *

It did come in handy, several months and many hard conversations later.

Despite the ongoing air-clearing between them, Ianto still lapsed into awkward periods as if unsure of his role in their relationship. And for all that Jack wanted to rage against that—not at Ianto, never at Ianto—they were still working through things, still functioning with half of a team, still relearning each other.

Ianto looked at Jack strangely sometimes, the same way Jack looked at himself in the mirror. How could he have kept his family from Ianto? How could he have felt such betrayal when Ianto had revealed his heritage when he had been keeping this secret?

Jack didn't have an answer to that. He doubted he ever would.

And yet, Ianto now knew Steven and Alice. He _liked_ them, didn't baulk at the fact that Alice was almost twice his age, withstood her scrutiny and built up their relationship if not into trust, then into a steady truce. He was as awkward around Steven as around his own niece and nephew, but tried, despite his clear confusion, to engage with him.

Jack thanked Ianto's high lung capacity after the first family dinner they'd attended, when they celebrated Alice's acceptance of Jack's relationship with particularly acrobatic lovemaking. Later, when Ianto was asleep, curled into Jack and with a ridiculous blanket wrapped around him, Jack thanked that lung capacity further. Ianto had escaped death so many times before, but never as closely as in Thames House, and it was the lung capacity he had to thank.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Torchwood Bingo Fest on Tumblr for the prompts: domesticity, meet the family, canon character is an alien au, interspecies romance, betrayal, cold/warm, coe fix-it au, mission-related trip, myfanwy.
> 
> This is one of my more self-indulgent stories, but it was really fun to write!!


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